Learn through Example
by Tsadde
Summary: Drabble. On a quiet night, Sam is sleeping and the stars are shining. Much to Dean's surprise, Castiel makes a spontaneous request- that Dean teach him what it is to kiss someone, really kiss someone, when you know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that you love them. Destiel.


Learn through Example

by Tsadde

Naturally, the milestone is met in the Impala. Like so many things, like conversations about faith, or the end of a night spent indulging in desperately needed laughter at a terrified Castiel's expense, or the interrogation of an amnesiac, the deepening of their relationship happens in the Chevy. The night sky is bright, the stars shining with a joyful flamboyance that Dean wouldn't have noticed unless curious, wide blue eyes had looked up through the window and spotted them first. Sam is sleeping, lying across the seats in the back of the car after an all-night hunt that cultivated in more than a few bruises. And Dean isn't at his best in that moment- there are times when he looks freakin' fantastic, but with a cut lip and a deep bruise on by his ear, with red knuckles and a throbbing headache, today is not one of those days. Dean wonders for a bit if the angel spent too much time looking at stars to really look at him, because the question comes all the same.

"Can you teach me?" he asks, suddenly. The hand that let go of the steering wheel to softly stroke the back of Cas' neck immediately halts. The car is parked and the hill they rest on is tall, the city below unassuming. For all his wit and brass humor, Dean can't muster a single thing to say. "Dean?"

He knew he'd come to this. He didn't know he'd be nervous. _Nervous about what?_ What would come, he wondered, with teaching the oblivious angel how to kiss? Oh, he realizes. Scared that you'll mess up. Scared that you'll break him. Vulnerability, honesty, completely at the advantage and exposure of someone else. Trusting. The age-old demons of his past.

"I didn't think you needed much teaching," Dean mumbles, "you kinda caught the jist of it when you grabbed Meg way back when."

"That doesn't count," Castiel tells him, looking down at his lap. "I want to know how to kiss when you mean it."

"When you mean it?"

"When you love someone."

Dean is taken back by the words. They sound so different aloud. He thought he'd go on knowing he was loved, like he did with so many others, only through actions and tiny words smudged between lines. They sound beautiful and terrifying all at once. Sam's soft snoring is second only to the soft hum of the radio in the thick silence. "I don't think I know what that's like either, then."

"You've loved before me," Castiel tells him, not as a question or an accusation, but as if speaking a plain and natural truth. Dean shakes his head. Angels are not completely divine for a reason- they sometimes get things wrong.

"Not like you, though. Never at all like you. So I don't know- I can't teach you. Looks like we're just gonna have to trial-and-error this thing until we get it right."

Castiel nods and smiles to himself. A hand makes it to his cheek and the fingertips are soft against his skin. There's something different, the angel knows, about the entirety of this and the kiss he shared with the demoness eons ago. It existed, but it was different, and this moment in the quiet winter night is too precious to be compared. Dean is careful when he reaches forward and pulls Castiel in, and the angel knows- not really through knowing, but so much more through feeling- that closing his eyes is called for. He'd rather take each moment in- he'll leave that for the next time. But he closes his eyes and his senses are astute to the warm breath on his jaw and the soft hair that brushes against his face. And he stays perfectly still, open and waiting, as the pressing of lips begin against his ear and down his jawline, traveling in slow, languid motions. He counts each breath, he sighs against the tickle.

"Move your head to the left," Dean whispers softly. "Keep your eyes closed just like that."

He does as he's told and their faces fit perfectly together upon each other.

"Lean up," he says, and Castiel can feel each word brushing against his mouth when Dean says it. The kiss is soft and simple, as pure as Dean could ever hope anything of his to be. The touch is like a trembling fear relinquished. The first gives way to a second, and the second a third. And the collection of kisses begin before breaths become scarce as Castiel holds Dean's face closer to his own. Dean, for all his past loves, couldn't give a damn over the inexperience, over the fumbling, over the ignored shaking of Castiel's hands. When lips part ever so slightly and kisses deepen, it is no longer a thought.

Under the stars and against the loud rushing of the wind, the two share their first kiss and the first whispering of I love you's between brief breaks for air. It ends much sooner than it should, Dean thinks, but far later than he should've allowed for the sake of his brother's sanity were he to wake up. He only caught a glimpse of the rearview mirror when Sam turned to the seats instead of the front of the car- if Dean didn't know any better, he thought he saw him smiling in his supposed sleep. With a warm sort of triumph, Castiel bids goodbye to the fear and the misery that still somehow clung in hopes of waging war- he leaves it on the hill they drove away from. Dean, on the other hand, doesn't think about fear or labels or the crisis of unsure identity. The songs on the radio are classics and a few of them about love that lasts. He sings along, Castiel hums, and he's too focused on how right the angel's hand feels in his own to care enough about anything else but them.


End file.
